Portraits
by sick-atxxheart
Summary: Portraits of the lives and feelings of different characters in the world of Harry Potter, following from their birth through their Hogwarts years to their either death or life in the Final Battle. So far: Snape, Harry, Sirius. read and review.
1. Portrait of a Sacrifice

To Severus Snape, each of his memories were reflected in a scar, made real by the jagged cuts that blemished his pale skin. Each line that pierced his body reminded him of someone, something-someone, something else that had been ripped away from him, shredding his heart into innumerable pieces, tearing his soul until there was nothing left.

From the beginning, nothing had been easy. The scars had begun to form even in the beginning, and they grew as Severus grew colder and colder, distancing himself in an attempt to protect his already shattered state. The scars started early, and Severus blamed himself for each one, as he would for the rest of his life. Abuse's ragged forms decorated his body, leaving its mark on the tender skin that was just growing into that of a man. Even as a child, pain was a daily part of his life, and scars were reminders to be strong and still fall apart at the same time- show nothing, only break on the inside. Severus always knew he was the sacrifice.

From that abuse, Severus hardened. No longer was he the little boy who cowered; now he was the man too young who was afraid behind his shield. Not many would see the difference, but Severus saw it; and he also saw the deeply complicated maze that his mind was becoming. Scars not only decorated his body, but also his mind.

The one friend he had ever made knew of his scars, and she was the most beautiful thing Severus had ever laid his eyes on. For once, he had been happy, and for once, he had something to live for besides the abuse he faced at home and the weakness he felt in his mind. He had something to live for. But when he betrayed her with a poorly chosen word alongside with the biggest mistake of his life, turning to the Dark, Severus grew even colder. Once again, something- everything- he had wanted had been pulled away, adding to the cruelty of the world that Severus saw so clearly.

The Dark drew him early on because of it's raw power and it's demand of obedience from it's followers. At first, Severus wanted that power. He wanted, for the first time in his life, to be in control; he wanted to be able to have a say in his life; and most of all, he wanted to not feel weak. But as he continued throughout the desperate darkness that was his life, instead of power all he received were yet more scars. Life had it in for him, and instead of the Dark offering him power, all it had done was shoved more pain into his face unceremoniously and ungraciously. The Dark was not only concerned with power, as Severus soon learned; the Dark and its leader were obsessed with obedience and, ultimately, punishment. It was not all Severus had hoped for, and new types of pain were experienced and endured. More scars, and more things to overcome.

As a teacher, he hid his pain behind a mask of unpleasantness, choosing to shield himself from as much of the world as he could, as not to get hurt further. It was an unconscious and eventually unsuccessful attempt, but Severus had never truly grasped just how broken of a man he was until Albus Dumbledore had pointed it out to him and shattered the mask Severus had so carefully built.

The unbreakable mask had finally been broken, and it took all of Severus' strength to actually allow himself to cry. Dumbledore was the father Severus had never had but had always wished for in his deepest moments, when he was hiding alone, nursing his injuries from abuse, watching more scars slowly form, and wondering what he had done that had made him so unworthy of love. Dumbledore was the second of the two people who had seen the scars in their full entirety; one night, many nights after the old man had learned Severus' full story, Severus had removed his shirt and shown Dumbledore his back. He could see the man fighting internally to not show surprise or disgust, and losing; but he had had conflicting feelings about receiving sympathy. The heart in him wanted it, craved it- and understanding and loving person to tell him that he had done it, that they were proud of him- but still, the soul in him was only focused on being strong enough for the  
moment.

Turning to the Light after the Dark was the easiest and the hardest decision Severus ever had to make. He eventually devoted his life to Lily, the girl he loved- her son needed his protection, and Severus' fate as a sacrifice was sealed. But the power would be gone, his options to do whatever he wished and make other people pay for the pain he himself was feeling- that was gone, and although he had never wanted it and almost never used it, the loss nearly crushed him. Severus had emptied himself, made himself nothing, for the service of others. Dumbledore had convinced him, and even Severus himself would admit that it hadn't taken much; but still, Severus couldn't back out of a contract with the Dark. He had its Mark on his arm, and when it burned he could feel part of his heart dying as he knew what would be coming; more pain for himself and more pain for others, a tireless, never-ending circle of agony, both self-inflicted by decisions and inflicted on  
others. Severus hated it, and he hated himself for it. More scars were added.

But the information that Severus was able to pass onto the Light was valuable, more so than even he knew, and it prevented many deaths of faces he had not seen, names he did not know, names he did not want to know. He didn't want to know the names and faces of the victims he was forced to torture and kill, all at the Dark Lord's word; he didn't want to know any details of the life he was ending without a choice. He tried to alleviate as much suffering as he could, but Severus knew that there was always someone watching, and he was always on the edge. Because of his position and because of the extremeness of danger that accompanied it, Severus grew in strength. He became unbreakable- the walls he had built in his mind were so strong that only one man, Dumbledore, could even come close to attempting to dent them.

His mind was his sanctuary, the one place he could and would let himself cry and be weak. In his sanctuary he could dwell in the past, remember all the things he had lost and wish with all his might that he still had them. In his mind he could hide from the pain and agony he was forced to endure- he could hide, and in his sanctuary he felt nothing. He played the part. Day after day, night after night, he fulfilled the duties of someone loyal to the Dark, gaining trust and rank until he could practically affect decisions, but still be subordinate to the Dark Lord; day after day, night after night, he endured the pain and punishment for one purpose: to save the world quietly, secretly, through the offering of himself as a sacrifice, as someone willing to die because of the scars that were already inflicted on his body. Through his sacrifice he honored the sacrifice of the woman he loved, and he could feel himself grow stronger at the thought of joining her  
in death. He waited for it, but he did not wish for it.

But he could still feel himself breaking, in those moments when he was alone, in those moments when no one was looking. He was the evil one to anyone who didn't know better, as almost no one did; he was the one loyal to the Dark, in the face of those loyal to the light. He was alone, and he broke because of it. Dumbledore was his comfort and the only thing that helped him hold on, that wise old soul that was so meddling and so manipulative but also so kind and caring; he was the one who helped Severus be strong, through his kindly words and his fatherly attitude. In front of Dumbledore Severus could break, and not be reprimanded or degraded for it; in front of Dumbledore, being weak and feeling pain was something that could be used to your advantage. It made you alive, it made you feel; numbness only made you immune to righteousness, and Severus was comforted but not healed by the truth in those words.

Severus hated the act he was forced to play, and the lie he was supposed to live; every day, he had to be cruel to sustain a reputation; every night, he had to lower himself to kiss the hem of the robes of the Dark Lord. In every way, he was weak and growing weaker, but no one saw it but himself, inside his sanctuary. He never showed it, never gave a hint of it except to Dumbledore and Lily; but the force of his scars, the pain of being alone and being forced to be strong- that was what truly drained him and left him helpless, writhing and drowning in a pool of evil and good, Light and Dark, that he couldn't seem to get out of no matter how hard he tried. He tried to get out of it, and couldn't; but still he played the part, and he played it well.

The world grew colder when things took an, if even possible, turn for the worse. Dumbledore died at Severus' own hand, but not by his choice; and slowly but steadily, growing in speed as the years progressed, Severus was losing even more of what he loved until there would be nothing left. As much as he fought it, he could feel himself going numb.

The end was near, and Severus knew it. It was nearly time for the closing act, the staple of the show, and he was prepared for it and he hadn't thought he was scared. But when the final battle commenced, the turning point of all those years and the climax after so many deaths, Severus couldn't help but feel fear. The cruel face of death and the harsh reality that his life would really, truly be ending hit him like a dead weight, and he was scared.

When he died, his last thoughts were of his scars. Each one was a memory; each one served as a reminder. He hadn't broken; no, he had been strong on the outside. He had been strong, even though he had been required to break. He hadn't, and he had the proof to show it; jagged lines piercing his body, piercing his soul, serving as a reminder to all who knew him; he had been a sacrifice, and he had played the part.

--

_I was inspired, and I wrote this. Severus Snape is one of my favorite characters, and I think this is pretty deep. What do you think? Please review. _


	2. Portrait of a Savior

**Portrait of a Savior**

Harry had never really thought himself as strong, or brave, or courageous, or something to be admired. He had always felt broken, or weak, or afraid, and he ahted it; but it was something he had accepted since an early age. He had always felt unwanted, unlovable, and it was something that had affected him later in life. Abuse had hardened his body, and emotional turmoil had strengthened his mind; but he was weak at heart because he had no love. He never saw that weakness; no, he only saw it when it was too late. It truly did affect him, because he had never had anything to boost him up; he had never had someone tell him 'I love you' or 'I am proud of you', and he regretted it every day. But there was nothing he could do.

Coming to Hogwarts had been the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wouldn't change it in a heartbeat. He had been introduced to magic, and the world had been opened up to him. There were people who cared, people who would heal him of hs injuries and support him when he was lonely or scared. And that was a strange feeling for him; he wasn't used to it, but he craved it after awhile, needed it, wanted it, and it was a great feeling.

Harry's years at Hogwarts were filled with many things that should definitely not be placed on children as young and as haunted as he was, but they were; he battled Voldemort his very first year, opened the Chamber of Secrets his second, gained a family member is third, played the deadly Triwizard Tournament and saw Voldemort return his fourth year, fought in the Department of Mysteries and lost his godfather his fifth, learned of many new, heavy burdens in his sixth, and eventually fought the ultimate battle between Light and Dark his seventh. All these things were not easy on the boy who had already suffered so much; as a result, he grew quieter, and stronger than he or anyone else could imagine.

The burden of the prophecy was a heavy weight on Harry, and he often wondered if he was even strong enough, even remotely strong enough, to even begin to hope to handle it in the least. His magic was strong, there was no doubt in his mind or anyone else's about that; his body was strong after years of fighting against nature, coupled alongside Quidditch and defensive training; but what Harry, and a few other choice people, were worried about was his mind, his soul, his heart. They were the ones that were weakened. His mind was sharp and clever, but would undoubtedly crack under more pressure; his soul was strong, but it had broken by the pressure of the world upon it's shoulders (it hadn't given up, but it was weakened); his heart had been trained to be cold and self-sufficent and independent ever since he was young, because of the abscence of love in the first years of his life.

Many people wondered if the qualities that Harry possessed were really those of a Savior, a hero, one who could- would- save the world from what threatened to crush it to pieces. Harry also wondered that many times himself. He knew that he was scarred in more ways than one, and he had never tried to deny it; but the intensity of the pain he always seemed to feel because of loss sometimes made him question his own strength. If he was nearly broken by something that had happened in the past, what good would he be in the future? His own mind was almost what tortured him the most; Harry could handle what other people said. Their lies and deceptions didn't hurt him except in the smallest, deepest part of his heart; but the guilt that he felt inside was what nearly broke him apart day after day. Guilt over all the deaths that had followed him throughout the years and all the mistakes he felt he had made- everything haunted Harry greatly, and he was torn apart by it. But he always tried _so hard_ to be strong, throughout everything. He tried _so hard_ that he thought he would break sometimes under the pressure- because really, who can stand to have the world rested on their shoulders, with no family to help support that immense weight? Harry lived through that, and he often wondered if anyone really understood.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny came the closest, as did some of the adults that had always been there for him. But as the time passed in his life, they all slipped away- many through death in one form of another, and Harry blamed himself for all of their deaths. Because it all came back to him, didn't it? When he was a baby, the scar that marked his forehead ever since the day his parents had died showed the proof of the prophecy that said he was the on who had to kill the Dark Lord.And that was a huge burden to put on someone so young, someone who had grown up abused and opressed and alone and everything a child should not be.

Harry knew his limitations. But he also knew just how strong he was, and that was what mattered to him. He knew he was strong enough to handle everything that was put up against him; he knew that he was strong enough to defeat the Dark, if he used strategy and his capable mind to its full potential; he knew that he would be strong enough if he relied on instinct, experience, and gut feeling. He had just as many things working for him as he had working against him, and Harry himself believed that that was the difference which would give him an edge over Voldemort. He knew his weaknesses, and he knew his strengths. But, in the end, Harry was proved wrong.

It was the fact that he could love that saved the world.

When he chose to sacrifice himself, it was then that Harry felt the strongest.

--

**I hadn't originally planned to make this any more than a one-shot, but I had an idea to continue the 'Portrait of a Sacrifice' idea into just 'Portraits', and do many little oneshots about different characters. I hope you enjoyed this. **

**Please review. I'm not sure who I should do next. Reviews are love! Feeeeed the plot bunniess!**


	3. Portrait of an Exception

_**This chapter is in a different format, as it was originally a different one-shot that was published seperately. It is still cohesive, though, i think. It is much, much longer than usual too. I hope you enjoy it. Please review.**_

**Portrait of an Exception**

_--_

_Being born into the house of Black isn't easy, especially because of the insanity that seems to follow the family like a curse and the way that evil seems to be an evident, expected trait of most members. Insanity, evil, and a condescending nature were all expected, and most who hail from the House of Black have followed in the footsteps of those before them, which of course means that ending up dead in some bloody battle for life and death is also evident._

_Sirius Black__ grew up with expectations being pushed down on him, and when he decided that he wouldn't, couldn't live up to them anymore, it was too late. He had had every opportunity to follow in the path of the Black family. Insanity, evil, the condescending nature, and eventually death in a battle- every opportunity._

_The difference is that Sirius Black chose not to take that path._

--

Sirius was born to Orion and Walburga Black, both of whom he quickly grew to hate. His brother, Regalus, lived in the shadow of his parents and all the generations that had come before him; therefore, he too was not worthy of Sirius' respect. His cousins, Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, all proved to be very different; Bellatrix was cold, condescending, and already insane, even as a child. Andromeda was sweet and kind, an abnormality in the Black family, but she was accepted all the same because of her magic. Narcissa was cold, pale, and beautiful, and Sirius found her to be sickly sweet. None of them, besides Andromeda, gave Sirius any reason to stay or love or fight for evil, as was expected. Sirius himself had been named in a long generation-withstanding tradition, and he hated to have anything that associated him with the house of Black; but his name remained the same, as much as he wished it wouldn't.

Sirius grew to hate his relatives, and he often thought to himself that they hated him just as much in return. He wasn't like everyone else; he was happy, and wanted to play jokes and have a fun time instead of serving evil and fighting against good. None of it made sense to him; he didn't agree with fighting for something you didn't believe in, and he didn't believe in the killing of innocents and the persecution of those with an incorrect blood status, as his family did.

Hogwarts was a welcome escape. For the first time in what seemed to be years, Sirius was on his own, without of history of dark decisions to overshadow his own free will. Sirius grew into his fiery, carefree personality as he went through the years at Hogwarts, first igniting the fury and disgust in his family when he was sorted into Gryffindor for bravery, instead of the expected and normal Slytherin for cunning and cruelty. Sirius was happy, though, that he had broken the pattern. He didn't want to be cruel; he didn't want to cause any more pain and suffering for the innocent but persecuted, those carefree people who were now dead. None of it seemed fair to him, and bravery over cruelty was a welcome exchange, at least in his young mind.

James Potter was Sirius' best friend. Their personalities matched perfectly, and the trouble those two got into beat anything you can think of. Pranks, dares, and jokes were the normal policy for the two, and for the first time in his life, Sirius felt- was- accepted for who he was, a jokester, someone who loves life. Hogwarts became Sirius' home away from home, and his friends became the family he wished for but never had.

Popularity and good looks suited both Sirius and James well, and that was why a new friendship with Remus Lupin was surprising to some who knew the extremes of the situation.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf, but Sirius and James didn't care and were unconditional friends. When they discovered Remus' difficulties during the full moon, being unable to control himself, causing pain to both himself and others, they created a plan. Sirius had smiled in anticipation when he and James, along with Peter Pettigrew, had become Animagi, and the bond had formed. They became Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and the circle was complete until one betrayal shattered their world. The four became the Marauders, who imposed terror and insanity upon Hogwarts in a fantastic combination of jokes, humor, sarcasm, and witty wisdom. With his friends, Sirius was as happy as he had ever been.

By the time he was sixteen, Sirius had had enough of his family. He didn't believe in the need for purity of blood, and he didn't feel the same hate for Muggleborns, werewolves, and those different, those who believed in a better side of life. He didn't have the same drive to serve evil that his family did; he didn't want to get involved with Voldemort. He knew of the pain and the insanity that seemed to come along with being a Death Eater, and more than anything, he didn't want that.

Because of these views, and because his friends had shown him a different side of life, a different way to live, at age sixteen Sirius ran away from home to go and live with James and his family.

Things were different for him from there on. His mother blasted him off the Black Family Tree because of his disappearance, but with a lucky, surprising inheritance from his uncle, Sirius became financially independent, with a family of Potters who accepted him as their own.

As life went on, nothing seemed to change. Sirius and James were still as crazy as ever, and as usual Remus and Peter were the more quiet ones of the bunch. Their friendship grew and grew.

Then, James fell hard for Lily Potter, and the second chapter of their lives began.

--

School was completed, and Sirius joined the Order of Phoenix, and attended Lily and James' wedding as best man. When their son, Harry, was born, he was named godfather. His life seemed to be going in the perfect direction; he was fighting for the good side, had his best friends right next to him, and had a future fighting for the Order.

Then, that fateful night occurred, and Lily and James were killed, Harry survived and conquered Voldemort, and Sirius hunted down Peter Pettigrew, the traitor.

He was convicted of the murders of Peter Pettigrew and many other Muggles, and, without a trial, he was sent to Azkaban, left alone to slowly go insane.

--

For twelve years, Sirius sat in the dark depths of the Azkaban prison, brooding on the deaths of his friends and fighting for vengeance. The Dementors sucked every bit of life out of him, taking every happy memory and squeezing it out, changing it to haunt him, making him relive the moments he hated and lose the memories he loved. Almost anyone goes insane from the feeling, from the feeling of never being happy again.

Sirius didn't.

For twelve years, he endured. For twelve years, he lived with the Dementors and the screams of other prisoners. He endured it all, for twelve years, all because of the tiny fact that was deep inside his brain…

He knew, above anything else, that he was innocent. He knew that Lily and James were not dead because of him, and he knew that he had not killed Peter Pettigrew, as much as he had wanted to. He hadn't done it.

And that small fact, that tiny grain that told him he was innocent- that was what kept him from slowly, carefully sinking down into insanity.

But he wasn't the same, after all. Every minute spent in that terrible place was like a broken record for Sirius- nothing except screaming, the noise of terror from other prisoners and sometime himself, was all that filled the air. Terror and pain and suffering, haunted everything Sirius thought and did in Azkaban. Twelve years. Twelve years of chances to succumb to evil, twelve years of chances to give in to the tantalizing pressures of insanity.

Twelve years, and Sirius still didn't give in. He remained strong, and after those twelve years, a newspaper article gave him hope with two pieces of information: Harry was at Hogwarts, and Peter Pettigrew was there too. And that single grain of hope that he was innocent rooted itself deeper into his heart, and he became obsessed with escaping the living torture that was Azkaban.

And he did. The guards couldn't recognize a dog form, and he slipped out quietly, the fact that Harry and Peter were alive giving him the extra boost of strength that was necessary. He escaped, and swam back to the mainland, joining the Wizarding World once again in secret.

--

But he wasn't the same. He couldn't be, after all that had happened. He was never quite right again. He was broken, shattered, his mind twisted; ideas sounded good and bad in antagonizing concepts, memories and thoughts and feelings bouncing around in his head, all going back to one thing: the torturous remembrance of the way he could be broken just by a place, by a feeling.

He watched Harry, and he was immensely proud, and in the back of his shattered mind he held a hope that he and the boy could be friends. He wanted a part in the boy's life, because he was his best friend's son: his best friend, who had been lost. He saw so much of James in Harry, and that hurt.

Sirius also watched Peter, whom he immediately saw was in his Animagus form (a rat), living with Harry's friend in the dormitory. He quickly saw the danger in that, but he wasn't sure what he could do at the same time. He couldn't kill him automatically, that much was obvious.

And so it came to be that he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Peter, and Snape all ended up in the Shrieking Shack, a place that reminded him so much of his happy days at Hogwarts. They were all in different stages of craziness- Ron with a broken leg (Sirius' doing, which he _did_ feel guilty for); Snape unconscious (Sirius did not feel bad about that); Remus looking scared and surprised; Harry and Hermione looking scared and most of all, defiant; and Peter still looking like a rat. And Sirius himself was in shock, almost drunk on the feeling of _finally_ not only being able to kill Peter Pettigrew but also seeing Harry and Remus. He wasn't in his right mind, and he knew that. He was in a dangerous situation, too many things overwhelming him, and he knew that. But really, he didn't mind.

It was all going to end up well, he thought. He would get Harry to believe him, kill Peter, make up with Remus- but then it didn't all work out. Remus turned into a werewolf because of the full moon, Peter escaped, Harry felt betrayed, and Sirius himself was captured and set up for the Dementor's Kiss. He felt worse than he ever had felt, even in Azkaban. Because now, there truly _was_ no hope.

When Harry tapped on the window with Hermione, on a huge bird, he felt elated. He had almost never felt more love for anyone than for Harry at that moment; he had saved him! As he rode off on the bird, he felt free for the first time in twelve years. He would have to go into hiding, of course; but really, what did that matter, when he could do almost anything he wanted? He had to run from the law, but hadn't he been doing that his whole life? He wasn't in Azkaban, and that simple fact reigned over everything. There weren't any more screams and nightmares to haunt him.

--

Harry's fourth year was eventful with the return of Voldemort, right before Harry's eyes, and Sirius had never felt so sad for the boy. But he himself- he was scared. His family was so deeply entwined in the Dark Arts that he knew he was a target, even though almost no one knew he was alive. If he ever was in close combat with one of the Death Eaters, he had an almost one-to-nothing chance of them being close family. That hurt him, because Sirius hated to kill- he even hated the thought of it- but he knew that any of the Death Eater's wouldn't hesitate even a second to kill him. No, they would be proud of it. 'We got rid of the scar on our family tree!', they would boast; and it made him sick, just as hearing Harry's story of what he had seen had. Voldemort had been reborn out of a cauldron, with Harry's own blood! And what was more, Harry had seen Lily and James through Priori Incantem… and that was what hurt Sirius, because he was _jealous_. He hated to admit it, but he was. He wanted to see Lily and James; he wanted forgiveness and redemption, he wanted to tell them that he was sorry, that it wasn't his fault they were dead. He wanted that so badly, and he had worked hard to keep his face impassive when Harry told the story. Dumbledore had eyed him, and he had inwardly cursed the old man for knowing everything; but still, he ignored him, and he wallowed alone in a silent hole of misery and loneliness like he had for the past twelve years. He felt alone, but this time, he wasn't.

--

Sirius joined the Order again next, and he felt accomplished when he could do something- he allowed his family's old home to be used for the headquarters of the Order. But even though he was happy that he was back with those who accepted him, the year was still tough. As a wanted man for escaping Azkaban, Sirius was cooped up under the enchantments in the headquarters, for his own safety, of course; but all in all, it did not help bring his sanity up from its already desperately low level. Seeing Harry and Remus often inspired him, and he was comforted; but still, he longed to get out, be the person he had always been.

Voldemort was acting more and more as the year progressed, and Dumbledore correctly guessed that he was planning something. Voldemort had discovered the connection between him and Harry, and used it to send the poor boy images that haunted him. Some were real, some were not. Sirius spent much of the year comforting his godson.

But when he learned that Harry and his friends had rushed off to the Ministry of Magic on a rescue mission to save none other than _himself_ because of a vision that had been fed into Harry's mind, Sirius was devastated. Now, surely they would all die, and now, surely, it would be his fault. How could he have failed so badly?

He rushed off with other Order members to find Harry and his friends running and dueling, but of course they were no match for trained Death Eaters. Sirius himself had seen firsthand what Death Eaters are capable of: not only from the mutterings of captured ones in Azkaban but also from growing up in the Black family. He hated it all so much, and he wished with all his heart that Harry didn't have to be a part of it; but he knew it couldn't be like that. He had been born into being a Child of the Prophecy, and playing his part was vital now. All Sirius could do was comfort him and support him and take as much burden off of him as possible.

The battle was raging and Sirius was fighting, and he was elated to once again be a part of the action. Everywhere around him were spells and bodies, and he was almost sick at the thought of someone dying; but there was no time for that, and he knew it. He himself was fighting, until suddenly he saw Bellatrix come up to him. He could see that she was even more insane than as a child; her eyes burned with a passion that couldn't be described, her body language conveyed a devotion that was haunting beyond words, and her magic was stronger than it had ever been. Sirius couldn't deny that he was almost scared of her. She had always been his little cousin, but now, she was something bigger. Now, she had _power_, and for the second time in his life Sirius wondered if the power of the Dark _was_ really stronger than the power of the Light.

He dueled her, and suddenly with a sickening crunch he felt himself falling. He had only seen the tail end of the green light that had erupted from Bellatrix' wand; but now, as he fell, he knew he was dead. He fell through the veil, and he knew no more.

--

When he was reunited with Lily and James, of course he was happy. But he couldn't help but be devastated by the fact that he had failed. He hadn't survived, and now he had left Harry alone.

He finally was able to apologise to Lily and James, and he was relieved when they said that after watching what had happened, they never doubted him; in fact, they had felt pity for him when they saw him suffering in Azkaban all those years. They loved him all the same, and commended him on how strong he was. He accepted all this with a smile; he was with his friends again.

But he had left so much behind, and all that was left to do was watch the battle between Light and Dark unfold.

--

Sirius watched as Dumbledore died and Harry was crushed beneath the weight of grief and burden. He felt so bad for the boy, but he couldn't do anything. He felt alone and afraid, just as Harry did; the world could come crashing down, and no one would be there to stop it but one boy who carried the weight of so many on his shoulders.

--

Seventh year arrived, and Sirius knew the end, one way or another, was coming. This was the year when Harry would either triumph or die, and Sirius was scared. Was Harry strong enough? Were the people around him strong enough? Was _he_ strong enough?

Sirius watched Remus and his new wife, Tonks, pass away, and then the Weasley boy; and he was devastated by those losses, both because of their deaths and because of the effect they would have on Harry. The battle was too strong; Dark was outweighing Light. It was practically hopeless.

Severus gasped when he realized what had to be done, and he started crying when he realized that Harry knew it too. A sacrifice had to be made, and only one person would do. The blood of the Savior had to be given, and the sad and horrible part was that Harry was prepared to give it.

The long walk from the castle to the Forbidden Forest where Voldemort was waiting seemed to take an eternity for Sirius. He watched as Harry saw his friends comforting one another, and he felt the boy's desire to say good-bye to them; but he also saw that it would be so much harder if he did. Harry continued on, and Sirius watched in heated anticipation.

The Resurrection stone, an amazing piece of legend that Sirius had only heard of as a boy, turned out to exist. He felt himself being pulled back to the real world, and he arrived with James, Lily, Remus, Tonks, and a few others to stand next to Harry, shadows, ghosts of their former selves, only called back for a few brief moments. He wanted to hug Harry so badly, to comfort him; but he knew now wasn't the time. Harry asked a few questions, and that fatal one gave it away: 'Does it hurt?' Sirius almost cried, but answered. They walked along with him, comforting him with their presence.

Voldemort tormented Harry when he arrived, and Severus buried his face in his hands when the same jet of light that had killed Lily and James killed Harry. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he cried softly, sad for the world that had been lost.

--

The rest of the story is history. Sirius was amazed to see that Harry really was alive, and that Voldemort was killed without Harry even using 'Avada Kedavra'. He was happy beyond belief as he watched Harry hug his friends and kiss Ginny, his girlfriend, but he was also crushed when he watched Harry register the deaths. He had lost so much, but now, Harry had gained the freedom of not having to worry about someone trying to kill him in his every move.

--

Sirius was finally happy and finally content, after his whole life. He had been tormented and tortured enough, but now it was all over, and no more of the Light and innocent would die. Everything was right again. He was happy, and Harry was happy.

--

_Sirius had been born into the house of Black, and it wasn't easy. But the difference was, Sirius chose not to take that path._

_--_

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